Help Yourself
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A woman insists on the chance to advise her past self in the hope of changing some memories that are less than pleasant. Follows 'High Stakes'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Remember me? After a much-too-long hiatus, I finally found the time to complete and post this story. I hope it gives you a few laughs while we're waiting the last few days for season 3 of "Fantasy Island" to come out on DVD next Tuesday the 23__rd__. I had some fun with this, and took a few aspects of it from my own memories as well. I'm considering doing another flashback story for the next one, so I might actually have something posted sooner than Christmas, LOL. Meantime, enjoy!_

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§ § § - May 30, 2008

It was the last day of school, and Susanna, Karina and Tobias would be four in just a few more days. In the middle of the morning, while Roarke was out seeing to several final preparations for the weekend and Leslie was trying to tie up some loose ends that had been sitting around waiting to be handled, Katsumi Miyamoto unexpectedly appeared at the open French shutters, looking woebegone. Leslie stared at her in surprise. "Hi."

"Hello, Leslie," Katsumi said, hesitating. "You are busy, yes? I come back later."

"No, no, I'm not doing anything world-shaking," Leslie said with a laugh. "It's just a lot of fussy little paperwork and stupid things like that. Come on in and sit down. You look lost." Then she remembered the date. "Oh gosh, that's right—Haruko graduates tonight!"

Katsumi nodded and shuffled inside, lowering herself into a chair with her usual unconscious grace. "Yes, is so." She looked up at Leslie. "Kazuo say same thing as I, that this school year seem so much shorter than all the others before. Now Haruko leaves for college after this summer, and she will be away…"

"The triplets will miss her too," Leslie said gently.

Katsumi stifled a sob behind one hand. "She is my baby girl. The little one who is always with me from my lonely days as geisha. Now she has grown and she leaves me!"

Leslie got up and rounded the desk, sitting in the other chair and taking Katsumi's hand. "All children grow up sooner or later. Father told me once about how lost he felt for the first few weeks after I left the island when I married Teppo. But…well, listen—college is just four years, and Haruko's planning to study marine biology, thanks to her friendship with that mermaid girl." She grinned. "By then, Dania Branham just might need a colleague to work with!" Dania had come to the island in the lull between Christmas and New Year's and had settled into the small cottage that had once belonged to Tattoo's friend Ambrose Hoskins, the groundskeeper who had posthumously won the Irish sweepstakes during Leslie's final year of high school. The cottage looked out over the ocean and was perfect for Dania; though she and Jonathan Ichino had cultivated a fairly serious relationship since her return, they weren't quite ready for the next big step. Meantime, Dania was happy that at last she was making use of her college degree and no longer had to be a waitress.

Katsumi blinked and suddenly laughed a little. "I never think Mr. Roarke might have job for more than one person in that…that job."

Leslie grinned again. "Well, this _is_ Fantasy Island, and there's a lot more to study and catalog here than just about anywhere else in the world. Dania's barely gotten started and she's already asked about having a secretary just to transcribe her notes into the computer. At this rate, Haruko could have a job waiting for her when she comes back. So don't worry. With a situation like that, you're guaranteed to have your little girl back here on the island after college graduation, and you and Kazuo will get to see her all the time."

"So true," Katsumi said, her black eyes sparkling. "I am so glad I come here. You make me feel much better now. I hope you and Christian come to see Haruko graduate."

"We'd love to," Leslie said, delighted. "Camille's David is graduating too, so she and Jimmy will be there with Craig and Robin. And incidentally, you're not going to be all alone just because Haruko's heading for college. Don't forget, you still have Chikako!" Katsumi and Kazuo's younger daughter was now ten and just completing the fourth grade.

Katsumi's smile grew a bit wry. "And Chikako is handful too. Perhaps Haruko will be happy that she is at college and I cannot tell her any longer that she must watch her little sister." They both laughed, and Katsumi arose. "Now I let you finish your work. You must have much to do…perhaps even birthday party for the triplets."

"Yep, and we're having a visit from some of Christian's family who're planning to stay for the full month of June. One more year and we'll be marching those little imps off to kindergarten. To tell the truth, I'm looking forward to it. They keep poor Ingrid hopping all the time, and they never stop asking questions."

"Who will stay with them when they are here at weekends?" Katsumi asked.

Leslie shrugged. "There's no shortage of willing babysitters, that's for sure. Christian and I are still trying to work something out so that all three of our prospects can have an equal shot at it." The phone rang and she snorted. "Well, that does it…work's calling. I'm glad I could help."

"I am glad we are friends," Katsumi said warmly. "We talk later." She hurried out, her steps somehow still dainty, and Leslie picked up the phone.

By lunchtime she was relieved to have Roarke there while she put the triplets atop phone books in their usual chairs. "How is the construction coming at your house?" Roarke asked, noting his daughter's frazzled mien as she tried to put a halt to an argument between Susanna and Karina.

"Girls, that's enough—stop it this instant, and I mean it," Leslie snapped, then drew in a breath and cast her father a look that was half apologetic, half pleading. "I can hardly wait for it to be done. They're supposed to be painting this weekend and putting in the carpet, so I was going to ask you if you minded if we all stayed here at the house with you."

"Not at all," Roarke said warmly. "It's little different from usual procedure, and you know I always enjoy having my grandchildren around." His attention was diverted when Susanna pinched Karina. "Susanna, I think perhaps you'd better listen to your mother and stop bothering your sister." His voice was kind but firm.

Susanna's face turned red and she hung her head. "I'm sorry, Grandfather." Then that same head popped right back up. "But she took my best dolly, and I want her back!"

"It's _my_ dolly," Karina insisted, glaring at her sister. "Mommy and Daddy gave me her for Christmas."

"It's my dolly," Susanna shot back.

"Mine!" Karina fired at her.

Tobias rolled his eyes. "Dolls are stupid."

"I said, that's enough," Leslie announced ominously, and when her daughters saw her expression, they shut their mouths then and there. "And Tobias, you don't need to jump into their argument. Honestly, if you keep up this fighting, you might not get a party for your birthday on Monday."

Roarke eyed her with surprise, but the threat worked; the triplets gasped in alarm and promised to be good, just as their father reached them from the other end of the porch. Christian overheard his children's promises and laughed. "Those are likely to be broken within the hour. What did you threaten to take from them now?"

"Their birthday party," Leslie told him, finally daring to take her seat.

"A bit harsh, perhaps, don't you think?" Roarke suggested.

Christian, surprised, peered at him as he took his own chair. "Do you think so, then? I had my share of ridiculous birthday parties and would never have missed them."

"As a child?" parried his father-in-law, and Christian laughed.

"Well, you could be right about that," the prince admitted good-naturedly. "But I have a feeling poor Leslie's at the end of her rope. The children have been restless all week, ever since they heard some of their cousins are coming to visit. It's been one fight after another, and very little of what we say has much effect. I daresay she issued that particular threat out of desperation."

"Maybe it'll help that the new bedroom should be finished by Monday morning," said Leslie, making him brighten. "I got a call from the contractors this morning and they say everything's done except painting and putting in the carpet. We can probably start moving furniture in on Tuesday or so."

"And I'm gonna get my own room," Tobias crowed. "No more stupid dolls all over my bed and those dumb ponies Susanna gots."

"I want my own room too," Karina sulked. "Then Susanna won't steal my dolls."

"I didn't steal her," Susanna flared. "She's my doll!"

"Stop now," Christian ordered sternly. "Don't forget about the party."

Roarke laughed. "I begin to see the problem. Well, tell me, while the children are distracted by food. What have you decided about the babysitters?"

"Haruko should be able to go on sitting for the summer," Leslie said, "but as I understand it, she leaves for college around the last week of August so she can get settled into her new dorm room. Kazuo and Katsumi are making a little vacation out of it to help her move in, and they'll be putting Chikako to work too. But on the weekends, we thought it might be a good idea to give Haruko those days to herself, and start getting the turkeys here used to new sitters. We're just trying to figure out who."

Christian smiled. "Well, I can tell you that one candidate has dropped out of the running. Dori Ichino got an offer from Jeremy to babysit her little cousin Kylan while he and Holly are working, according to news bulletins I received from Jonathan; so now it's down to Brianna Harding or Noelle Tokita."

"Oh boy," Leslie murmured. "I'm beginning to wish something like that would come up for one of them too. I can't stand the idea of having to choose between them. It'd be easier to pick Brianna, just because she happens to live right across the street, but I think Noelle would be crushed. Myeko's told me several times that Noelle can't wait to get to know the triplets, in the hope of taking over Haruko's job."

Christian sat up straight. "You know, I think I just found the answer. It was when you mentioned that Brianna's across the street. It seems to me that, if Grady and Maureen don't object, the children could spend the days at the Hardings' house under Brianna's supervision, say, during what would be normal school hours. On weekends, while they're here with us, Noelle could take over sitting duties. Unless Haruko objects, we could begin next Tuesday, so that we can get the changes started."

"Why can't Ingrid stay with us and we get to play with our own stuff at home?" asked Karina, looking alarmed.

"You'll be going to kindergarten in another year, sweetie," Leslie explained. "I think it's time that you and your brother and sister get used to leaving home for a while every day. Brianna's nice, and besides, you'll get to play with April, remember?"

"Yeah, that's right," Susanna said, beaming. "I like that. Can we do that, Mommy?"

"We have to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Harding about it, but I hope we can," Leslie said, smiling at her. "And Ingrid will be here only one more year anyway." She caught Roarke's questioning expression. "Her boyfriend back in Lilla Jordsö proposed to her, so she let it be known that once the triplets start school, she's going back home. Anyway, Christian, that sounds like a great solution if Grady and Maureen don't mind."

Christian nodded, falling silent for a few moments while Roarke and Leslie talked a little business regarding the forthcoming weekend. Then he observed during a lull, "It's going to be a very strange year. With Haruko graduating and leaving the island, and the potential babysitters vying for the position, and the possible schedule changes…perhaps it's best that I'm working only part-time now."

Leslie smiled and squeezed his hand. "Consider it another phase in our lives. By the way, Katsumi invited us to come see Haruko graduate, so we have a little date tonight."

"I expect that should bring back memories for you, Leslie," Roarke remarked.

"I don't doubt it," she agreed, laughing. "Has it really been twenty-five years? I'm surprised none of us has heard anything about a reunion yet."

"I expect you will," Roarke assured her. "You have the whole summer before you. In the meantime, let's eat; there is yet plenty to do."

§ § § - May 31, 2008

"Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Roarke urged, as he still did without fail each Saturday morning. "Remember, it's important that our guests feel welcome." He motioned to the band and glanced at Leslie, who straightened her stance beside him, before turning his attention to the seaplane that had just moored at the dock. The cabin hatch popped open, and a young native attendant reached in to give a hand to a sweet-faced African-American woman at least ten years Leslie's junior, wearing large-lensed glasses and a brightly colored dress with a full, swirly skirt. "Miss Kalora Calhoun, all the way from Wilmington, Delaware."

"Long trip," Leslie commented. "What's her fantasy?"

"One that I am sure has crossed the mind of everyone ever born, sooner or later. She wishes to go back in time to…to advise her younger self."

Leslie noticed the odd tone in Roarke's voice and eyed him curiously. "What do you mean, 'advise'? And why would she want to do that?"

Roarke chuckled, shaking his head a little. "I suspect for the same reasons anyone else would want to. Miss Calhoun says she often finds herself in awkward social situations, and has sometimes been the butt of taunts and cruel practical jokes. She feels that her responses to those instances were, uh…'very lame' was the phrase she used. As with most people, she often dreamed up much better ripostes long after the fact, when it was too late for them to be effective."

Suddenly Leslie understood. "Aha. And she wants to revisit those occasions so she can tell herself what to do when she experiences those taunts and things again."

"Exactly," said Roarke. "However, she may well be let down." He released a small sigh and shifted his attention back to the dock, introducing the next fantasy which belonged to a set of siblings who wanted to experience for themselves the trials and tribulations of their great-great-grandparents' immigration to the United States from Germany; but Leslie knew where her interest lay. Kalora Calhoun looked eager and excited, and Leslie hoped Roarke's last observation in regard to her fantasy would be wrong.

"My dear guests!" her father called then, raising his glass in salute. "I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" The German-descent siblings, four of them, raised their drinks in return, and so did Kalora Calhoun, her eyes shining brightly behind her glasses. Leslie smiled at her, anticipating their introductory chat at the main house.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - May 31, 2008

Within the hour Kalora Calhoun was comfortably seated in a leather chair in front of Roarke's desk, smiling hopefully at her host. "I was really surprised when you sent me that letter agreeing to grant my fantasy," she said, making Roarke and Leslie look at each other with considerable surprise of their own. She noticed and shrugged a little. "Well, I mean, it sounds pretty superficial when you look at it, doesn't it?"

Roarke returned her smile and assured her, "No one's fantasy is superficial, Miss Calhoun. It's my policy never to belittle any guest's wish."

"What exactly brings on this particular fantasy?" Leslie asked. "I mean, I can understand why you want it, but you weren't very specific about your reasons, and I'm really curious, Miss Calhoun."

"Just call me Kalora," their guest urged her, and Leslie smiled assent. "Well, I'm not really shy or anything, just maybe not very socially dexterous. I get a little emotionally volatile sometimes, and when that happens I react without thinking. It wasn't just in school; it's social events in general. My family's told me more than once that I try too hard and that's why I keep slipping up."

"For example?" Roarke prodded.

Kalora's smooth chocolate-colored skin didn't hide her blush; she dipped her head and cleared her throat, knotting her fingers together in her lap. "Well, the most recent thing that happened to me…a couple of months ago actually. I was at a party and I saw this really good-looking guy standing around talking to some other people. I wanted to say hi to him, so I got a friend to introduce me. He smiled, and it looked as if he really liked me, and then he asked me what I thought of the company CEO. I was trying to be witty, so I said something incredibly stupid…I joked, 'Well, I didn't vote for him.' Some of the others laughed a little, but I could see they looked kind of embarrassed…and the guy just gave me a funny little half-smile and turned away." Kalora finally looked up. "I was so embarrassed, and I felt like such an idiot, I left the party as soon as I could, without even telling anyone."

"And this sort of thing happens to you frequently?" Roarke asked.

Kalora nodded. "Too frequently. That's why I'm still single at thirty-four, and it's why I never get invited to parties, unless they're office parties. I've lived in the same neighborhood all my life and everyone knows me. Sometimes I think about moving away and starting over in a whole new place, and sometimes I think maybe I should just stop doing anything and stay home all the time. But I like going out. I hate to sit at home watching TV or something like that when I could be doing something much more interesting."

"Anyway, moving to somewhere new wouldn't solve the problem," Leslie said. "You'd still be the same person you are now."

"I know that," said Kalora. "But I didn't know what else to do. Then a few months ago I was walking past a travel agency and thought I'd start planning a vacation, so I walked in, and there was this little brochure about this island, tucked away in a corner. I grabbed one and took it home with me, and that's when I wrote you the letter."

"I see," said Roarke. He regarded the hopeful young woman for a moment or two, then cleared his throat. "Miss Calhoun, I understand why you want this fantasy, but I must point out to you that history cannot be changed. If I were to send you back in time and allow you to advise your younger self in potentially embarrassing situations, that younger self would still experience the same outcome."

He might have said more, but Kalora was already shaking her head. "No, Mr. Roarke, I don't think that'd happen. You see, even back then, I wished all the time that there were someone who could advise me. I even fantasized about a little elf or something who could stand on my shoulder and feed me witty lines as I needed them. I'm sure my younger self would listen to me."

Leslie grinned, and Roarke let his amusement show, his dark eyes twinkling gently. "I am quite sure you aren't the only one who has wished for that, or something similar, Miss Calhoun. But even as we make such wishes, we know perfectly well they are impossible. I suspect your younger self would be quite disconcerted, at the very least, should you suddenly appear at her side and offer a _bon mot_ or two. Think about it. Do you truly believe you would have automatically welcomed such a thing?"

Without hesitation Kalora responded, "Absolutely. There's no doubt in my mind."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other once more, and Leslie shrugged. "I don't mind admitting that I landed in a few of those situations myself from time to time, and I seem to recall that on one or two of those occasions, I wanted to call you up from the nearest phone booth and have you conjure up a witty elf like Kalora's." She grinned when Kalora giggled. "I don't see that it'd hurt anything to let her try."

Roarke released a soft huff of amusement and gave in. "Very well, Miss Calhoun, I will grant your fantasy. But keep in mind two things: one, as I said, history cannot be changed, no matter how hard we try, no matter how devotedly we wish. And two, everything you encounter in your fantasy will be as real as if it were actually happening—which, as a matter of fact, it did at one time. It will be as though you are reliving those precise moments in which you wish to lend assistance to your younger self."

Leslie, stricken with a thought, sat up straight in her chair. "Father, won't there be some kind of…I don't know, disturbance or something, when her present and past selves make contact? All the sci-fi stuff puts out dire warnings about temporal anomalies and mental unraveling and all sorts of unpronounceable oddities."

Roarke laughed. "Miss Calhoun may introduce herself as someone else when she meets her younger self; that would be best in any event, since everyone knows it's not possible to carry out the sort of achievement she is attempting." He noticed their looks and gave them a surprised one in return. "Surely you knew that! After all, this is Fantasy Island."

"And it's only a fantasy," Kalora filled in. "Right, Mr. Roarke, I get it."

Roarke nodded and arose then. "If you'll come with me, Miss Calhoun…" Both Leslie and Kalora got to their feet and trailed him across the study to the time-travel room, whose door stood slightly ajar. Roarke pushed it open and gestured the women in ahead of him, then stepped in himself and regarded Kalora with a thoughtful look. "If you will, Miss Calhoun, please enumerate to me your first intense memory of a situation in which you wish to, uh…" He smiled faintly and a quipping tone flavored his voice. "…help yourself."

Kalora considered it a moment, then drew in a breath. "When I was ten and had to go to a different school because the town redrew districts and put our neighborhood in a new one. I wanted to make new friends, but I didn't know what to say or do. I mean…it was a mostly white, upper-middle-class school."

Roarke turned to a small round table, draped with a white floor-length cloth, upon which rested a large, clear, lidless box filled with what appeared to be dry-ice fog, and four heavy blue glass spheres about the size of duckpin or candlepin bowling balls. Roarke picked up one of the spheres and carefully placed it into the box, where it vanished within the fog. "Wait until Leslie and I have left this room and closed the door," Roarke instructed her, "and then reach into the box and lift out the sphere I just placed therein. You will then find yourself inside that memory. Once you are there, hold onto that ball and don't let it go, whatever you do. It renders you invisible to everyone but your other self, as long as you hold it." He smiled at her. "I wish you success, Miss Calhoun," he said, very gently, then gestured to Leslie and followed her out.

Kalora watched them go; then she drew in a slow, deep breath and gingerly lowered her hands into the fog-filled box. Almost instantly she encountered the heavy glass ball, which when she lifted it out had turned clear. Momentarily stunned with surprise by this, she stared at it for a moment before she realized that she could see a reflection in it. She looked up, and there before her was a school corridor, where several groups of children were chatting, laughing, mock fighting, running, and other pursuits. And then, off in a doorway all alone, she saw her own ten-year-old self, clutching a binder like a shield to her chest, staring wide-eyed and clearly frightened at all the new kids.

Kalora gasped softly. _Was I really that short back then?_ she wondered in amazement, taking a good long look at her younger self. It hardly seemed possible that she was really here, reliving this memory that had been so painful for her. But she was determined to make it less painful, and to that end, she slipped around the groups of kids toward the scared little girl in the doorway, clinging to the sphere the way the youngster held her binder.

She had to clear her throat to catch the girl's attention, and smiled when the ten-year-old gaped up at her. "Are you Kalora Calhoun?" she asked. At the girl's nod, Kalora went on, "I'm…I'm Tracy Little, and I'm here to help you get settled into your new class." There, she thought, that had come out pretty well, hadn't it?

The girl shook her head. "Nothing's gonna help. I wish I was back in my old school with my friends. These kids won't care about me."

Kalora peered down at her. "Don't you want to make friends?"

Her younger self nodded hard. "I do, I really do. But…I never know what to say."

Here was the perfect opening. "Well, I can help you with that," Kalora promised with a confident smile. How many times over the years had she retraced this memory in her head, trying out different lines, coming up with the perfect script that would have helped her had it been in her head at the right moment? "I can tell you exactly what to say."

Young Kalora stared at her skeptically. "No way."

"Oh yes," Kalora said, nodding firmly.

"How you gonna do that?" demanded the girl, then spied the sphere in Kalora's hands. "I s'pose that's your crystal ball, and it'll tell the future."

Silly though it might be, Kalora seized on the idea and ran with it. "Let's just pretend it is," she suggested, grinning foolishly, then peering into the empty sphere as if she noticed something within. "And right now it's telling me that Mrs. Hathaway will be introducing you to your new class in about five more minutes, and a girl in the front row will say that she thinks you have a very pretty name."

The girl screwed up her entire face in astonishment. "But I hate my name!"

"Don't say that," Kalora warned herself instantly, remembering despite herself what had happened when she'd sullenly said as much, all those years ago. "I know you think it's the worst name ever, but absolutely don't say that. Just tell her thank you, and smile, and ask her what her name is. And I guarantee you'll have a new friend."

"Just like that, huh?" Young Kalora still looked dubious.

"Hey, it's better than making faces about your name and looking like you'll pick a fight with anyone who mentions it," Kalora observed.

To her surprise, her younger self laughed. "Well, I guess that's true. Okay, if that's what's really gonna happen, I'll do it." She squinted up at Kalora, peering closely at her. "It's funny, I was just thinking I wished somebody would come along and tell me how I can get through the first day at this new school. Thanks for showing up."

"That happened to me a lot too," Kalora said with a wry inward smile. "Okay, get ready to go to your new classroom, and don't forget to do just as I said."

A bell sounded off then, and Kalora watched her ten-year-old alter ego join the kids splitting into streams and veering into different classrooms. No other child seemed to see her adult self, not even some who barreled through the door right behind her. One almost collided with her, yet never paused for so much as a startled look, let alone an apology. The sphere really worked, Kalora thought, delighted. She'd have to thank Roarke later on.

She edged into the classroom, double-checking in spite of herself whether anyone but young Kalora could see her. She caught the girl's eye, winked and put a finger to her lips; the girl quirked a brief, small smile and studiously looked away. Kalora grinned to herself and leaned against the wall near the door to watch the memory play out as she still recalled it.

Sure enough, the teacher, Mrs. Hathaway, came out from behind her desk and stood in front of the blackboard, almost at exact center. "Good morning, class, and welcome to the fifth grade," she said, in a clear, pleasant voice. "This year we have a new student with us. Let's welcome Kalora Calhoun. Kalora, won't you stand up, please?"

The ten-year-old girl arose, looking a bit reluctant, and Mrs. Hathaway urged her to come up front, making both the girl and the adult Kalora wince a little. But the girl did as bidden, and Mrs. Hathaway turned her to face the class. "Does anyone have any questions?" the teacher inquired brightly.

And just as Kalora remembered, a girl in the front row, whose long blonde spiraling curls tumbled over her shoulders like lazy Slinkies, raised her hand and spoke up when Mrs. Hathaway nodded at her. "I like your name," she said. "I think it's really pretty."

Young Kalora opened her mouth, hesitated for a fraction of a second and glanced at her adult counterpart. Kalora tapped her head, and the girl focused on her new classmate and smiled, though to Kalora it looked a bit forced. "Thanks," she said. "Th-that's really nice of you to say that." Both girl and adult smiled widely and genuinely when the blonde girl beamed in a friendly manner.

"Thank you, Melissa," Mrs. Hathaway said, sounding approving. "That was a very kind thing to do. Anyone else?"

"What school did you used to go to?" another kid asked, and the ten-year-old replied, sounding a bit surprised but less ill at ease. Kalora relaxed against the wall and waited out another couple of questions, then made herself comfortable when she realized that so far, it looked as if she was going to be here for some time. She was frankly amazed at Roarke's odd attitude; who said you couldn't change history? Here she was, doing it!

After about two hours she followed the class out to recess, where young Kalora got involved in a conversation with Melissa, the blonde who had complimented her on her name. But they'd been talking only a minute or two when another girl, this one taller and bulkier than most of her classmates and covered with freckles, marched up to them, pushed her fiery-red head almost directly into Kalora's face and sneered, "What're you doing at this school, blackie? You don't belong here and you never will. Black kids go to the dumpy schools. You're in the wrong place!"

"Get lost, Wanda," Melissa snapped. To young Kalora she advised, "Just ignore her, she's the class bully."

"She's a bigot, too," the adult Kalora said loudly, looking directly at her younger self, and smiled broadly when her counterpart took her lead and repeated this to Wanda. Her voice shook, but Kalora sidled over to her and whispered, "Don't be afraid, she's just a bully."

"I'm not a bigot. Look, I don't care if blondes and brunettes go here. I just don't think anybody who's black should be here," Wanda said, hands on hips. "So get off our playground and go back to your old school."

"Great idea," shouted another voice from nearby. "Go away, black kid."

Other, uglier names began to reverberate across the playground; young Kalora, overwhelmed, threw the adult a glance that begged for deliverance. But the adult Kalora was immobilized by shock. She did remember a few racist remarks, especially from Wanda, but they had never been all that bad; in her original memory, she had simply made herself as inconspicuous as possible and kept to herself, and let the bullies think they'd put her in her place. Kalora searched her brain for some rational response, but then Wanda gave the young Kalora a hard shove that knocked her to the ground, shouting gleefully, "Get outta here, you…you Sambo kid!" And just for good measure, she added the ugliest word ever dreamed up by whites for blacks, which made even the adult Kalora gasp in horror.

The young Kalora clearly could no longer stand it and scrambled to her feet; but instead of fleeing, she rushed Wanda and head-butted the bigger girl in the gut that overhung the waist of her jeans. "Say that again, I dare you!" she screamed. "Say it again and I'll make sure you can't say anything at all for a week!"

Wanda took her up on the challenge, and before Kalora could intervene, her younger self had swung a wild punch that, by some miracle, connected with Wanda's chin. Wanda howled and sank to the ground, holding her jaw and gibbering in accusation while pointing at young Kalora with her free hand. At which point, Mrs. Hathaway and two other teachers finally arrived to sort out the mess, and Kalora groaned aloud and closed her eyes, wishing the sphere in her hands really had been a crystal ball. Maybe then she could have foreseen this and worked out some way to prevent it!

The scenario ended at last with both Wanda and young Kalora getting a week in after-school detention, Melissa being afraid to come near her new friend any longer (perhaps for fear of her temper, Kalora supposed), and no positive change at all. Bewildered and morose, Kalora stood in the time-travel room still holding the sphere, staring into it, trying to understand how something so promising could have gone so wrong.

The door opened then, startling her and revealing Roarke. "Well, Miss Calhoun, and how did it go?" he inquired.

Kalora stared at him. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that," she said, her voice a bleat of pure confusion. "The whole thing just went all wrong."

"I'm terribly sorry," said Roarke. "Why don't you come out and tell us about it?"

In the study, ensconced on one of the loveseats with a cup of tea in her hands, Kalora explained the details of her altered memory to Roarke and Leslie, then glanced back and forth between them, looking for understanding. "Why did that happen?"

"Maybe you didn't plan far enough ahead," Leslie suggested. "As nasty as it is, the fact that you were the only African-American girl in a white class should probably have tipped you off that there could be trouble."

"I should've told myself to ignore that Wanda," Kalora muttered, "just like I did in real life. I just didn't answer them and tried to make myself small and unnoticeable. They'd make fun of me now and then, but mostly they just pretended I didn't exist." She looked up. "Which I guess was better in the long run than what happened in there. And look at me—I'm doing it again—telling myself what I could or should have done instead of what I actually did!"

Roarke and Leslie both smiled sympathetically at the irony. "Well, perhaps your second memory will be a bit more malleable," Roarke said. "Why don't you give yourself a chance to rest a little, have some lunch, and then return here at about two o'clock. I will then see you off into the next scenario."

Kalora nodded agreement. "That sounds good," she said and carefully placed her teacup on the table, then arose. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke and Leslie. See you at two."

When she was gone, Roarke and Leslie looked at each other again. "I have to admit, I was hoping she'd be able to change at least that memory for the better," said Leslie through a sigh. "I thought that maybe, if she succeeded in changing that, it would be the start of a kind of snowball effect, where everything that happened afterward would have been different because of that one changed event."

Roarke smiled, amused, and shook his head a couple of times. "As I have repeatedly told you and many of our past guests, history cannot be altered. I suspect Miss Calhoun is already beginning to realize this, but she has too much hope to give up on her fantasy just yet—so I have no doubt we'll see her soon after lunch."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - May 31, 2008

As usual, Haruko joined them for lunch, and while she was clearly thrilled to at last be a high-school graduate, she seemed a little down. "Is something wrong?" Leslie asked her, apportioning food onto plates for the triplets.

"Well, I…" Haruko hesitated, flicking a nervous glance at Leslie. "It's just that…oh, I don't know how to say this."

"Simply say it," Roarke suggested. "It may sound harsh, but there really is no better way than merely to speak."

Haruko hunched her shoulders. "I just don't want to leave Prince Christian and Miss Leslie in the lurch, that's all."

"In the lurch, how?" Leslie asked curiously.

Haruko finally met her gaze. "Well, see…you know I'm studying marine biology when I start college in a few months. And I heard through the grapevine that there's this marine biologist on the island who's been asking about a secretary but can't find one. I got the details and went down and applied for the job for the summer, and…well, I got it. Because of my planned studies and all."

"Well, that's great!" Leslie said encouragingly. "So what's the problem?"

"I won't have time to sit for the triplets anymore," Haruko said apologetically, her shoulders hunched so far now that she appeared to be cringing. "I'm getting Mondays and Tuesdays off because that's when Miss Branham kinda takes her weekends, the way you and Prince Christian do. Miss Branham likes to dive in her spare time and she really knows her way around boats and all, and she said that if I do a decent job as a secretary for her—you know, transcribing her notes and research and organizing it—then she'll take me on as her assistant when I graduate with my degree. And I'm really dying to do this—I mean, a ready-made job, right here on Fantasy Island! How can you beat that?"

"You can't," Leslie said, laughing, "and we wouldn't hear of your passing that up. It's perfectly okay, Haruko, you don't need to worry. We have two eager replacement sitters more than ready to fill your shoes. You go ahead and take that job and enjoy the heck out of it, and rest assured that Brianna Harding and Noelle Tokita will be overjoyed to hear they can start their sitting duties right away."

Haruko giggled, red-faced and relaxing heavily with relief. "Well, they'll have to wait till the middle of next week. I don't start till Wednesday, so the kids'll have me for one last weekend. I'm so glad you don't mind—thanks, Miss Leslie!"

"Believe me, we'd never deny you the opportunity to get ahead in your chosen career, even before you start studying for it," Leslie assured her. "It's a fantastic opportunity and you should definitely take advantage of it. I think the only ones who aren't going to get much out of this are the triplets. You've been a wonderful babysitter ever since they were infants, and I know they'll miss you on the weekends."

"Are you going away, Haruko?" exclaimed Tobias. "That's not fair!"

"I'm here for this weekend, Tobias," she said, "but it's my last one. Don't worry, you'll like Noelle and Brianna. I've met them and they're really nice, and I'm sure they'll be a lot of fun when they start coming to sit with you."

"But we don't want you to go," Susanna pouted.

"Can you still bring us some of your mommy's rice cakes?" Karina wheedled.

Haruko, Roarke and Leslie burst out laughing. "Tell you what," Haruko said, "you ask your mommy and maybe she can work out something with mine, okay?"

Christian appeared then and grinned questioningly. "Did I just miss something?"

"You could say that," Leslie said, grinning back, and summarized what had happened in the past few minutes. Christian congratulated Haruko on her new job, wished her luck, and surveyed his children, who had begun eating while he'd settled in.

"Through the grapevine," he said through a short chuckle. "With the way your friends and their families are intertwined around here, Leslie, I'm not remotely surprised. Oh, and speaking thereof…I understand David Omamara hasn't made any plans post-graduation."

"He's always been such a slacker," Haruko scoffed. "If he wanted to do anything more than flipping burgers or something, he should've started planning at least a year ago. I had a lot of classes with him, and I don't remember ever seeing him do any work."

"Well, he's into cars, I know that much," Leslie mused, able to sit down after having filled her own plate. "He's been driving for Father since he turned sixteen, and this will be his third summer at it. And I hear he's good at it—always there whenever someone needs transportation somewhere. He's always very busy on weekends."

Haruko made a face. "No offense, Mr. Roarke, but I bet you can't support even yourself on a job like that, never mind a family."

Roarke eyed her and smiled a little, then said, "David is not just interested merely in driving cars, Haruko, but in keeping them in good repair as well. He's quite the tinkerer, and as it happens, mechanics earn good salaries, if they're good at what they do. And David shows all the signs of wanting to improve his skills. I believe that one day fairly soon, I'll be adding him to my automotive staff."

Haruko had stared openmouthed at him throughout this speech; now she blinked and looked at Christian and Leslie. "What do you know…he has a future after all."

"Believe me, Camille's every bit as surprised as you are," Leslie remarked and laughed again. "She said something about expecting to hear any day now that David wants to move into his own apartment, as long as he's earning his own money."

"He has some distance to go before he's ready for that," Roarke said, amused. "While I hate to cut short the friendly repartee, I think we had better see to it that we don't linger too much over the meal, as I have an appointment at two."

Kalora Calhoun was right on time for her second appointment, and though she was clearly a bit nervous, she was still determined to go through with the next attempt to change a memory. "I thought at one time I might like to be a DJ," she explained to Roarke and Leslie in the time-travel room. "So when I found out about an intern position opening up the summer I was fourteen, I decided to try for it. Unfortunately, I made a big mistake in my interview. The guy conducting it was testing me on my musical knowledge, but I was so nervous and so desperate to show I knew what I was talking about, I answered the questions too fast. And of course, I managed to give the wrong response to one of the most obvious ones." She compressed her lips and looked away, color flooding her cheeks. "It's so embarrassing…even now I can't make myself talk about it."

Roarke smiled. "Then I won't ask for further details, Miss Calhoun, and I hope you will succeed in righting whatever mistake you made." He picked up another of the blue glass balls and placed it in the fog-filled box. "As before, once we leave, please retrieve the sphere from the box and hold onto it throughout your scenario. Good luck, Miss Calhoun."

Kalora smiled her thanks, watched Roarke and Leslie depart, then reached into the box and lifted out the now-clear glass sphere. She had earlier determined not to be looking at the ball when she was sent into her next memory; but something compelled her to stare into its depths till she saw a reflection of her surroundings, as if she wasn't allowed to watch the transition into her destination. However, once she did look up, she immediately recognized the offices of the radio station she'd listened to since she was a small child. And as she stood there holding the sphere, a familiar-looking car turned into the parking lot and pulled up into the space directly in front of her. She grinned to herself; it was the old Gran Torino her father had so diligently kept running for so many years, till too many winters of Delaware road salt had rusted it too much to salvage.

In the front seat was her mother, looking startlingly youthful; Mrs. Calhoun was clearly giving her daughter a pep talk, as her mouth and hands were both in animated motion. The teenager beside her kept nodding, but already Kalora could see the bored overconfidence in the fourteen-year-old's expression. _I was too cocky, too sure of myself,_ she remembered with a wince. _I need to puncture my own ego a little!_

Finally Mrs. Calhoun gestured the girl out of the car; Kalora could still recall her assurances that she'd be there waiting when the interview was done. The teenager nodded and slipped out of the car, slamming the heavy door and striding up to the station entrance. Kalora fell into step just behind her; the teenager didn't seem to notice till they were inside, where she then turned and peered oddly at her. "You here for an interview too?"

"Well…in a way," Kalora said, taking a deep breath. "So you're going for the intern position, then."

The teenager stared at her. "How do you know that?"

"It's common knowledge," Kalora pointed out. "I'm sure lots of aspiring disk jockeys are hoping to land this opening. You're aware that they're going to be testing you on your musical knowledge, I assume."

"I heard that, yeah," said the teenager slowly.

"Well, even if you think you know all the answers—and I'm not saying you don't, so don't look at me that way—just relax. Don't blurt out your responses in an effort to impress the DJ, okay? I tried something like that once when I was about your age, and I messed up big-time. Confidence is great, but too much can trip you up."

The teenager was still eyeing her strangely. "Hey, where'd you come from, anyway? What're you doing here? How do you know so much—and why d'you have that glass ball in your hands?"

Kalora tried to think fast; she'd gotten away with fanciful explanations to her ten-year-old self, but it wouldn't work with this one. She shrugged and essayed a sheepish little smile. "Didn't you ever wish someone could feed you witty lines and good advice right when you needed it, instead of three days after?" She let the last question go unanswered, hoping her teenage self would be so interested in what she did say that she'd overlook the rest.

The teenager opened her mouth to reply, seemed to think better of it and let her gaze drop out of focus to consider it. Within seconds a smile began to bloom on her features and she peered at Kalora with an expression that said, _okay, I'll humor you._ "Yeah, I see what you mean. And that's what you're doing here, huh? You were sent here especially to help me out when you think I need it? And I suppose you're gonna pull witty lines out of that crystal ball you got there."

"You could say that," Kalora agreed, letting the last assumption stand. It made as good an excuse for hanging onto the sphere as any other.

"Well, it's not like you can sit on my shoulder and whisper into my ear," the teenager observed, letting her skepticism show. "And you dang sure can't come into the office with me when I'm being interviewed."

"Oh, that's not a problem. Nobody but you can see me," Kalora said.

"Yeah, sure," the teenager snickered.

"Try me," Kalora challenged. "If you're so sure, try it."

"Kalora Calhoun?" said a voice then, and both adult and teen turned instantly. A 20-something brunette stood in the nearest doorway, holding a clipboard. "You're here for the internship, right?"

"Yes ma'am," the teenager said with a nod.

"Okay, come along with me then. Thank you for being so prompt." The brunette smiled at the teenager, then led her deeper into the building. Kalora trailed along, cradling the glass ball and winking at the teenager when the brunette secretary showed no sign whatsoever of having seen the adult Kalora.

"You see? Only you can see or hear me," she said.

The teenager looked thoughtful but at least had the sense not to respond aloud; she simply hoisted her shoulders with acceptance and returned her attention to following the secretary. A moment later they reached the door to a small office; through the long narrow window beside the door they could see a lanky young man with a skimpy, straggly ponytail, perched on the edge of the desk talking with a business-suited man who appeared to be around the adult Kalora's age. The secretary opened the door and said, "Blaster, the latest intern applicant is here for her interview."

The ponytailed young man hopped to his feet and stuck out a skinny hand, which the teenager shook. "Hi there, I'm Blaster."

The teenager nodded eagerly. "I know, I listen to you every afternoon. I'm Kalora Calhoun and it's great to meet you!"

Blaster allowed her an indulgent grin. "Okay, c'mon. Thanks, Lisa." The secretary retreated the way she had come, and Kalora trailed her younger self and the DJ on to another small room, this one empty. "We'll use Wade's office, he's out to lunch. Have a seat."

Kalora hovered by the door while the teenager sat so she could see both Kalora and Blaster, and quickly advised, "Remember, don't answer as fast as you can." The teenager flicked her an acknowledging glance and focused on Blaster, who began asking the usual questions. Kalora, whose brain had a vise grip on this particular memory, found it surreal to hear, in person, the same questions and her own answers out loud, and had to shake her head hard to dispel a shudder.

After a while Blaster, who had started to look impressed (this, to Kalora's surprise: she had no recollection of that part), rested both arms on the desk in front of him and leaned forward. "Y'know, kid, you're pretty cool. I like your interest. In that case, I'll go to the next step. Let's have a little music quiz, huh? See what ya know. First question: who sings 'Heartbreak Hotel'?"

The teenager looked astonished that the question was so easy. "Elvis."

"How 'bout 'Yesterday'?"

"The Beatles."

"Okay…how 'bout 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'?"

"That's Simon and Garfunkel."

"Good. Sounds like you know your oldies. Now something a little more recent. Who sang 'Stayin' Alive'?"

The teenager was grinning. "The Bee Gees."

Blaster fired a few more disco-era questions at her, then moved on to eighties tunes; Kalora found herself tensing more and more as the teenager's answers got quicker and surer. Fortunately, when Blaster had finished quizzing the teen, he sat back for a moment to consider the young applicant, and Kalora seized the chance, remembering all too well what was coming. "Kalora, remember what I told you," she insisted. "I know you know all this stuff, but don't be so quick to answer. The faster you speak, the better the chance that you'll accidentally give the wrong answer."

The teenager nodded quickly a couple of times and shifted in her seat, taking a few slow breaths and even carefully crossing one ankle over the other. Blaster focused on her again and leaned back in the chair. "Well, kid, you're pretty good. Let's see if you know some trivia. Who originated the American Top 40 program?"

This, Kalora remembered, had been the question that had tripped her up. She knew, both then and now, that the answer was Casey Kasem; but in her zeal to impress Blaster, she had said it was Don Cornelius, the host of the TV show "Soul Train". She could still remember Blaster's astonished guffaws; that had been the last she'd heard, as she'd slunk out of the room and then fled the building in abject mortification. Well, not this time. She leaned over and gave the teenager a hard stare; the younger girl cleared her throat and, thankfully, gave the correct reply. "Casey Kasem."

Blaster nodded. "And who's his successor?"

The young Kalora hesitated, peering at the ceiling; the adult, though, knew this one too and prompted, "It's Shadoe Stevens."

"Oh, right—Shadoe Stevens," said the teenager.

"Not bad, kid," Blaster said. "Okay, here's something a little more obscure. What year did this radio station go on the air, and what were the call letters back then?"

Kalora's mouth dropped open—both the adult and the teenager, in precise unison. Neither of them knew the answer to this, and Kalora could see this second memory ending as badly as the first one had. She fielded a panicked glance from the teenager and suddenly recalled that she could use her invisibility to try to help her younger self. "Stall him off," she instructed the teenager. "I'll see if I can find a clue somewhere."

The teenaged Kalora began talking, slowly and thoughtfully. "Well, I know I've been listening to this station since I can remember, and…" While she continued with her verbal meanderings, Kalora moved around the room, studying every framed document, every note on the corkboard, every commemorative plaque she could see. There were college degrees, photos, autographed pictures, jumbles of cryptic notations scrawled in illegible handwriting, awards, operational licenses…aha. These last were grouped in an attractive display on the wall behind the teenager, and Kalora frantically scanned them all but discovered none that gave any clue as to when the station had gone on the air. Stymied, she looked around the room, spied another grouping on the opposite wall and hastened over there to get a look at the half-dozen commemorative plaques. But none of them immortalized the crucial date, and the call letters on all of them were the current ones.

She turned to the teenager, who cleared her throat and coughed suddenly as if there'd been a catch in the back of her throat. "Sorry," the girl said and cast Kalora one last pleading look. All Kalora could do was shrug helplessly and shake her head.

"Make a guess," she suggested. "Try a year in the fifties."

The teenager shifted in her chair, closed her eyes briefly and plucked a year out of thin air. "Uh…it was 1951?" she offered. "And the call letters were…"

But Blaster was already shaking his head. "Nope, sorry, kiddo. Wow, and you were absolutely perfect up till now." He caught sight of the teenager's devastated look and let his demeanor soften a little. "Look, though, you did really great, and you're definitely a contender for the position. If we don't get anybody else who's as good or as eager as you, then you got it, hands down. We'll call ya if you got it, okay?"

Even the teenager recognized this as the dismissal it was, and nodded dejectedly, rising and slowly leaving the room. Kalora followed her younger self out, trying to pep-talk her. "Hey, it was just one thing, you know? They can't really expect a teenager to know that kind of arcane stuff. You know your music and you really impressed Blaster, I could tell. I was watching him the whole time. So don't look so down."

"It's just that it's hard not to…after all those questions I got right," the teenager muttered, almost too low for Kalora to hear. She looked up accusingly. "And you with that so-called crystal ball. I thought you had all the answers."

Thankfully, before Kalora had to bluff her way out of that one, the outside door opened and they saw a teenage boy enter the lobby. The boy spied the younger Kalora at almost the same time, and came through the inner glass door, a look of recognition on his face. "Hey, Kalora! I didn't know you were interested in the intern position!"

The teenager looked startled. "Yeah, I just finished my interview. What're you doing here? Same thing?"

The boy nodded. "You bet. This'd be the greatest thing, don'tcha think? What a cool way to spend the summer! Do they know if you got it, or what?"

The teenager shrugged. "They said they'd call if I got it." Her head snapped up with sudden indignation. "Get this, Billy—they want to know when this station went on the air and what the call letters were! What's that got to do with learning how to be a DJ?"

Billy looked surprised. "They do? I dunno, but maybe that's just a trick question to see how much you really wanna be in radio."

"Well, all I know is, I messed it up. I can't believe they wanted to know that. And it was the only one I missed, too. Just watch out in case they ask you that."

"Thanks for the warning." Billy grinned sympathetically. "Heck, I don't know either, and besides, I might mess up on some other stuff they ask. Good luck."

"You too," the teenager replied with a half-smile. "See you later."

Outside, the teenaged girl reluctantly told her mother everything that had transpired, while Kalora stood listening to the conversation and trying not to superimpose the memory she still had of diving into the backseat of the car and ignoring her mother's questions all the way home. Mrs. Calhoun was astonished to hear about the trivia question her daughter had missed. "Well, that's strange…why on earth would they want to know that?"

Before the girl could reply, though, Billy burst out the door all but dancing, his face split by a huge rictus of a grin and his eyes glowing. "Hey, they hired me!" he shouted. "I got all the answers right and they said I can start tomorrow!"

All three of his audience gaped in astonishment; the teenager slumped in her seat and closed her eyes, Mrs. Calhoun blinked in disbelief, and Kalora couldn't control her reaction. "You can't be serious! Just like that, they picked you?"

The teenager must have overheard her because she sat up and poked her head out the window, repeating Kalora's words in an accusing tone. Billy beamed and nodded, running to the Gran Torino and leaning in. Kalora could still hear his jubilant voice. "Yeah, seriously! That was really generous of you to give me that tip about when the station went on the air. I saw a big gold plaque on the wall in the hallway that had all the info I needed on it. I mean, you talk about good luck! I appreciate it, Kalora, I really do. Tell ya what, if they need another intern, I promise I'll give 'em your name."

"Yeah…thanks," the teenager murmured dispiritedly, and Billy beamed and took to his heels, pumping a fist in the air with triumph. Kalora was still watching him go when the scene seemed to melt around her, and all of a sudden she found herself standing in the middle of the time-travel room. Roarke was waiting for her beside the table holding the box and the spheres.

He read her expression. "Did something go wrong this time also, Miss Calhoun?"

Her shoulders slumped and she handed him the second sphere. "Just when I thought it was all sewn up…sure enough, something went wrong." She explained it while he accompanied her back into the study.

Roarke listened without comment till she had finished; then he smiled faintly with sympathy. "I am terribly sorry."

Kalora peered dubiously at him. "That's what you said the last time."

Roarke's response was instant. "I told you in the beginning that history cannot be changed, Miss Calhoun. And while that continues to hold true, I do sympathize with your attempts, and I do wish it were possible for you to change those painful memories."

"Then why can't you make it so that I actually do change one and get something good out of it?" Kalora asked, frustrated.

Roarke paused for a moment or so, long enough to gesture her to a chair and take his own seat behind the desk. Then he focused on her and said, almost apologetically, "There are some things that are beyond my powers to grant. Once a deed is done, it remains done, no matter how dearly we wish it otherwise. I can make it possible to go back to revisit that deed—but it is still done, still an irrevocable part of history. It cannot be erased; it cannot be altered. However, you may yet gain something from your past two attempts."

"Like what? A different witty remark that I'll never get to use because the perfect moment to use it will never happen? I don't think so, Mr. Roarke. I want to try to change those other two memories, even if you say I can't. I mean, listen—it's my fantasy. This is what I want to have happen. If you can't give it to me the way I asked for it, then maybe you should give me back my money and I'll just go on home."

Roarke nodded. "That is your prerogative, of course…but tell me something. If it were possible to make the changes you wish to make, what do you feel you would gain from it? Would it miraculously give you the rapier wit you feel you lack?"

Kalora looked as if he'd run her through with a poker. She floundered for a moment, her mouth open; then she raised both hands in a helpless gesture. "Well…I—no, that isn't what I was expecting. I only thought that…" She trailed off in confusion.

"If you could change those memories in the way you wish to do, leaving aside anything you feel you might gain from them, your entire life from that point forward would also be altered—perhaps to a very uncomfortable degree. You might return home to a job or friends that you don't have in your current history, and you might very well be woefully unprepared to take up that new life." He gave her a pointed look. "In the event, you have found that you avoided one problem in each of the memories you've relived so far, only to have something else happen that was equally undesirable. Whatever 'corrections' you try to make, even if you're successful, you still run the risk of something else going awry. There are always random factors, Miss Calhoun. We can't control the world or the people around us; they will affect our lives in countless ways that we can hardly imagine. We have no choice but to deal with those random factors as best we can."

She was silent for a few minutes, digesting this; then she sighed. "Well, that's all very well and fine, Mr. Roarke…but I still want to try. I…I mean, I've been wishing for this kind of thing practically all my life. There has to be at least one memory I can alter that would make it come out differently…_better_…than it really did."

"I see," Roarke murmured. He met her gaze, gave one slight nod and spoke briskly. "Very well. Please be here tomorrow morning for the third appointment, at ten o'clock."

"I will," Kalora promised and arose. "Thank you." With that, she left.

Roarke watched her go, drew in a long breath and released it rather gustily. Was it just him, or were his guests becoming more fearless and asking more nagging questions that even he was hard put to answer? For the first time since the tribunal council had abruptly summoned him at the turn of the millennium, he began to wonder whether it might not be time to retire after all.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - May 31, 2008

The Saturday-night luau was in full swing and well attended, though to Christian's relief, not too crowded. He and several of the Enstads' friends were sitting on the ground around a long L-shaped table, taking up one end and holding a space open for Leslie, who was technically on duty that evening. Also with them was Darius Langford, whose tenuous contact with the actress Paloma Esperanza had frayed and then ceased altogether. He was making the acquaintance of the others and had fallen into a long, involved sports discussion with Brian Knight and Nick Okada.

"He's a nice guy," Myeko remarked, glancing at Darius. "And you're saying he's never been married or anything? You'd think women would be falling at his feet. He's friendly, he's cool, he's good-looking and he's got a good job."

Christian shrugged. "I don't pry into my employees' personal lives, no matter how much Julianne and Jonathan volunteer theirs and those of their relatives." Myeko and several of the others laughed. "But I do know that since Darius has been here long enough to get settled and be eligible for citizenship if he wants it, he's begun to think about finding someone and settling down. Unfortunately, so far it appears the women aren't cooperating."

"Their loss," Maureen observed. "Myeko's right, he does seem really nice. Maybe he should talk to Leslie and Mr. Roarke and try to have a fantasy granted where he can meet the woman of his dreams."

"I doubt he would," Christian said, grinning. "He's too modest for that; I think he'd rather meet someone the old-fashioned way." He noticed Leslie talking to a young African-American woman wearing large glasses and clad in a pretty pale-green sundress, and found himself thinking out of nowhere that Darius might like to meet her. Unless he missed his guess, that young lady was one of his father-in-law's guests this weekend.

"Well, he'll never meet anybody if he's gonna just sit around with Nick and Brian talking football all night," said Lauren, rolling her eyes. "I don't get you men; how can you talk about nothing but sports for hours on end?"

"About the same way you women can talk about nothing but shoes for hours on end," Christian teased, making Myeko, Maureen and Camille all laugh and playfully poke Lauren. "Or shopping, or each other."

"I don't talk about shoes," Maureen snorted, grinning. "Frankly, I hate shoe shopping. My feet are almost impossible to fit properly and I have to get my shoes custom-made, so I avoid it as long as I can. It's been at least six years since I bought new shoes and I can't stand talking about the silly things. On the other hand, I can talk your ear off about recipes from anywhere in the world."

"Which suits me just fine," said Grady, sitting beside her with one ear on the sports discussion and the other half on Christian's discourse with the women. He had been looking tired lately, though he and Maureen both said it was merely from too much work, as he was the island's only lawyer. Maureen caught his words now and turned her grin on him.

"Can Darius talk your ear off about anything but sports?" Lauren persisted, though she too was grinning.

"Well, he's good for some entertaining military stories from his stint in the Air Force," Christian said through a chuckle. "We've had some interesting lunch breaks."

"I bet you have," Grady said through a laugh. "I served in the Navy for a stretch, and the military's always good for some odd anecdotes."

Leslie returned just then and dropped into her reserved spot beside Christian. "Anecdotes about what? Sorry, I had to defray a little problem."

"We were just talking about Darius and his attempts to find a good woman," Christian said, bestowing a quick kiss on her lips. "So who was the young lady you were just talking to, one of your guests?"

"Yeah, Kalora Calhoun. Father told me this afternoon that she's getting disgruntled with the way her fantasy's going, and he seems to be a little down, at least to me."

"He looked it at supper," Christian agreed, then noticed that Leslie's friends were listening in, as usual. "Truly, you ladies remind me of groupies."

"Yeah, we're pretty pathetic, aren't we?" Camille said good-naturedly. "But the thing is, we've known Leslie for almost thirty years, and even after all that time, it's impossible to be bored by any of her work stories. But we promise to wait till Monday to ask about the actual fantasy." She winked at Leslie, who grinned.

"You thought Mr. Roarke looked tired?" Maureen asked curiously. "Maybe what he needs is a vacation. Grady and I've been talking about closing down his office for a good month or so and getting away somewhere, without the girls."

"If it would take away that tired look you have," Christian said thoughtfully to his friend, "Leslie and I would be glad to keep April for you—after all, she's good friends with our Susanna and Karina."

"That's way too generous," Grady said instantly, shaking his head. "No, Maureen's parents would be willing to keep the girls—they're their only grandchildren, or at least the only ones they know." He and Maureen traded a quick look, and Leslie knew what he meant; Maureen had still never met the two older brothers who had remained behind when her parents had fled Romania the year she was born.

Christian smiled. "Just thought I'd offer." He might have said more, but then their attention was diverted by the same pretty African-American woman whom Leslie had been talking to earlier. Leslie arose.

"Hi," she said, "what can we do for you?"

"I wonder if I could join your party?" Kalora Calhoun asked hesitantly. "I mean…I know I'm probably horning in on something private, but you just…I mean, you all look like you're having a lot of fun."

"Well, come have a seat," Leslie suggested, gesturing at a narrow spot beside her. She, Christian and Grady inched down to make some room, forcing Darius and Nick to do the same and thus catching the men's attention. Kalora smiled self-consciously and started to crouch into the newly created empty space.

"Hold on a sec," Darius broke in suddenly. "Nick, there's a little space on the end there…Grady, if you wouldn't mind making some room here…"

Kalora froze in mid-kneel, and Leslie chuckled. "I'm sorry, Kalora. This is Christian's receptionist, Darius Langford. He's worked with Christian about a year now."

"Oh, I see," Kalora said, meeting Darius' gaze with new interest.

Nick, Christian and Grady caught one another's eyes, and Nick promptly shifted to the space at the end of the table, while Brian smirked, then ducked his head and made a show of making some extra room for Nick. Darius shifted farther over, and Kalora circled around to settle in between him and Grady. Immediately Darius inquired, "So, you here for a vacation, or what?"

Kalora's nervous gaze skittered once around the group, all of whom were now tuned in, before she ventured, "Well, actually I'm having a fantasy granted."

Ears pricked up all around, and Darius' face brightened. "Yeah? So is it going okay for you? Are you in the middle of it right now?"

"Not exactly…I mean, I'm kind of in between," Kalora murmured.

Leslie wanted to intercede, but since it was Kalora herself who had mentioned having a fantasy, she could see no special reason to suggest they change the subject. The expression on her face must have alerted Christian, for he cleared his throat. "Tell you what," he offered, "why don't we all get up and refill our plates, if Darius and my wife's guest don't mind holding all our seats for us for a little while."

"Sounds good to me," Grady agreed. Nick, Brian, Myeko, Lauren and Camille shot Christian looks that all shouted, _You party pooper!_ but obediently arose. Maureen grinned and got up as well, giving Lauren a gently admonishing poke.

"What was that for?" Lauren demanded once the group had moved a sufficient distance from the table toward the buffets.

"Don't you think we should practice a little discretion?" Maureen inquired. "I could read it all over that poor girl's face—we were all hanging on every word she said, just waiting for the dirt on her private fantasy. And besides, couldn't you tell Darius is interested in her? Give them a chance to talk in private."

Myeko snorted. "Oh, come on, she mentioned her own fantasy."

"That doesn't mean she was willing to discuss it with a bunch of people she'd never met before," Leslie pointed out, thankful that Maureen had given her an opening to work with. "She might not even necessarily want to tell Darius, but at least he's just one person and not half as intimidating as all you behind-the-scenes groupies."

The phrase made Christian hoot with laughter, setting off the rest of them despite themselves. "Okay, okay, I guess we kinda were listening a little too closely," Nick conceded good-naturedly. "That's okay. As I was saying about the Forty-niners…"

"They don't have a chance against the Patriots," Brian cut in immediately. "I mean, I've been a Seahawks fan from day one, but I know a good team when I see it, and the Patriots are _good_, man."

"That doesn't mean they're going to win the next Super Bowl," Grady said with a sly look, clearly just as a challenge to Brian.

"Why exactly are you talking about American football now, when it's not the right season?" asked Christian curiously, before Brian could respond. "It's baseball season, isn't it? I caught Leslie here watching a Red Sox game last week—she just won't give up on some of those remnants of her New England origins."

"Rogue," said Leslie good-naturedly.

"You a Sox fan?" Grady asked with interest. "I lived in Vermont for most of my teen years, did I ever tell you that? My dad was an avid Sox follower."

Leslie grinned. "How can you be a New Englander and not be a Red Sox fan? It's like treason if you're not—especially if you turn out to be a Yankees fan instead."

"Yankees, Schmankees," Grady scoffed. "Sox forever."

"You got it!" Leslie agreed delightedly.

"_Herregud,"_ Christian grumbled. "That was a mistake." The women burst into appreciative laughter; the men playfully shoved him, and he laughed, unoffended. Leslie grinned to herself, knowing full well that he was just happy to be an accepted part of their group, treated like just another one of the gang. It was the sort of thing he'd wanted all his life. _I just hope we can fall back on that when they surprise him next month with that fiftieth-birthday bash they're cooking up,_ she mused.

A laugh distracted her attention and she flicked a glance over her shoulder, then stopped moving to stare outright. Darius and Kalora were deep in conversation, and Kalora appeared to be completely at ease. Maybe Kalora would come away with something better than the impossible fantasy she'd asked Roarke for…

§ § § - June 1, 2008

Kalora took a deep breath; in some ways, this memory was more painful than any of the others she had considered trying to change in this fantasy. "I was eighteen," she said slowly to Roarke and Leslie, "and the senior prom was coming up. I really hoped someone would ask me to go—I wanted to go so badly, I didn't care who asked." She looked up and they both nodded. "But when this guy did ask, it was only a stupid joke. He said he'd come and get me in his bulldozer, and everyone laughed. I couldn't think of a snappy comeback at the time, and I ended up spending the evening of the prom thinking of things I could have said that would've put egg on his face. I finally did come up with one, and to this day I can still imagine what would've happened."

Leslie was curious as to what Kalora's prepared comeback would have been, but she knew—like her father—that once this segment of the fantasy had reached its conclusion, they'd both find out anyway. So she nodded. "Well, good luck, then," she said simply.

Roarke extracted a third deep-blue glass sphere from the box and settled it into Kalora's waiting hands. "I also wish you the best of luck, Miss Calhoun," he said with a smile. "Now, as before, wait until Leslie and I have departed, and look into the ball."

_Look into my crystal ball,_ Kalora thought whimsically, thanking her hosts and watching them close the door behind them. She stared into the cobalt depths of the smooth glass, till as before, she saw something reflected on the surface and looked up and around. She was in the hallway of the high school she had graduated from, and kids were running this way and that, yelling, laughing, sometimes playfully pushing each other around. Not far away was the doorway to the classroom where she'd taken American history in her senior year; that room was the scene of this recollection, and there was a somewhat nauseated fluttering in her stomach at the idea of witnessing this particular memory, of watching it actually taking place all over again. _But you're gonna change it, girl,_ she promised herself, and with that thought in mind, she sidestepped and toe-danced her way through ever-shifting knots of teenagers till she'd slipped into the classroom.

The room was about half full of students, but she had no trouble picking her 18-year-old self out of the bunch. The younger Kalora was already in her desk, chin resting in one hand and gaze aimed somewhere out one of the windows, obviously daydreaming. Kalora bit her lip: she well remembered that. _There I go, fantasizing about that stupid dance. I wish I could just tell myself that it wasn't worth it._ But even she knew that she would never have listened to anyone who tried to tell her that, back then. Better she go with the plan she had at hand.

"Where are you now?" she boldly asked herself, pausing beside the teen's desk as if she were a teacher on the prowl. The girl reared back, badly startled, and gaped up at her before opening her mouth to ask a question; at that point the bell rang in the hallway and a stampede of teenagers thundered into the room, streaming to their desks.

"Who are you?" the teen demanded under cover of the noise.

"Don't look right at me. You're the only one who can see me. I'm here to help you," Kalora told her younger self. "The teacher's gonna be a few minutes…"

The teacher, who was in fact sitting at her desk, arose abruptly as if having just remembered something. "Class, I'm putting you on your honor," she warned. "I'll be back in five minutes." Without further explanation, she left the room.

Kalora knelt next to the desk while the classroom promptly filled with chatter. "I know you want to go to the prom," she said. "I'm going to help you with that. Just listen for my prompts and say what I tell you to. Got it?"

The teen squinted at her, then seemed to brighten. "I always dreamed of something like this, but I never thought it'd really happen," she murmured, glancing at the unnoticing students around her in case someone was watching. "Okay, I'll do what you say." She saw the now-clear glass sphere in Kalora's hands. "What's that?"

"It keeps me from being visible to anyone but you," Kalora explained. "Go ahead and get out your book and check your homework or something, but look busy. In a minute or two a boy is gonna start talking to you."

The teenager grinned hopefully and followed instructions, slapping a textbook and spiral-bound notebook onto the desk and thumbing aside pages. Kalora straightened up and scanned the nearby rows till she located the boy she still vividly remembered as having been the one who pulled his little prank on her that day. _Go ahead, Feebster,_ she urged, glaring holes in his head. _This time I'm ready for you._

Sure enough, the boy—Allen Feemstra, as she recalled all too well—laughed at something one of his buddies said and looked around, then spotted the younger Kalora with her head bent over her notebook. Kalora very clearly saw him aim a gigantic wink at his nearby friends before reaching over and tapping her younger self on the shoulder. "Hey there, Calhoun! Got any plans for prom night?"

The teenager's head shot up and she looked wide-eyed at Feemstra. "No, not yet."

Kalora nodded to herself. So far, this was going just as she remembered it.

Feemstra smirked. "Cool! In that case, how 'bout you go with me?"

"I'd like that," young Kalora said shyly, beaming.

"Cool," Feemstra said again. His smirk seemed to get wider. "I'll come pick you up in my bulldozer, so be ready."

The teen's mouth drifted open in wounded disbelief as the nearby boys and a few girls howled with laughter. "You jerk," Kalora couldn't help snarling before laying a hand on her younger self's shoulder. "Tell him this, exactly as I'm saying it." She whispered in the girl's ear, as quickly as possible so as not to lose the moment.

The teen flicked one startled but grateful glance back at her before leaning over and saying loudly, "Hey, Feeble-stra—I'm gonna be waiting for you, so I expect you to show up at my house at seven sharp on prom night. And if you don't bring your bulldozer, everyone's gonna know you're just a liar with a fat mouth."

The laughter stopped for a second; several gazes landed on the teen Kalora and stayed there, as if amazed, while Feemstra blinked and his friends roared. "Now you're committed, man," one of them said gleefully. "Got yourself a prom date!"

"Yeah, and don't forget your bulldozer," a girl added, chortling. This brought on fresh laughter, and the teen Kalora grinned, obviously basking in her little victory. The present-day Kalora felt great_. How can this possibly lose?_ she asked herself. _If Feeble-stra doesn't show up, he loses face, and I get my prom date. Now how do we get to prom night?_

As if in response to her thought, the scene magically shifted around her. Now she found herself standing in her own bedroom, decorated with all those posters of popular bands and cute, hunky actors, to such a point that the wallpaper was almost completely hidden beneath them. Kalora laughed out loud; she had forgotten half those celebrities by now. "Look at that poster of Brandon Scott!" she giggled.

At the sound of her voice, her teenage self shot out of the closet. "It's you!" she cried. "I wondered what happened to you in school the other day." She edged forward, and Kalora found herself admiring the prom gown her younger self wore, in pastel pink with clean lines and just a little lace trim.

"What a pretty dress," she said.

The teen blushed and smiled. "Thanks. Do you really think Feeble-stra will show? By the way, that was a great nickname. I never would've thought of it."

"Sure you would," Kalora said with a wink. "I admit it would've been too little too late, but you'd've thought of it all right. Listen, if Feeble-stra doesn't want to lose face in front of everybody in school, he'll be here, bulldozer or not. Even if the jerk ditches you at the prom, which would be typical of him, I'm sure you can hang out with your friends at least, even if you don't find a cute guy you could dance with."

The teen nodded and confessed, "Not that I'm too thrilled about going with old Allen, but he did ask." They both laughed. "Are you coming with me?"

"Of course! What're friends for?" Kalora said playfully. "So is there a special guy you would've liked to go with?" She herself had had crushes on several different guys in her grade, but had never been particularly choosy about which one she'd go out with if asked.

They chatted quietly in the bedroom for a while, till Mrs. Calhoun appeared in the doorway and smiled at her teen daughter. "Honey, it's ten past seven. Want to come downstairs and wait for your date there?"

The two Kaloras trailed her down to the first floor, and the younger version took up a post at the window overlooking the street, some of her enthusiasm squelched. "I'm not surprised Feeble-stra's late," she muttered. "I don't care what he shows up in, just so long as he shows up at all."

However, by the time it was almost eight, it was plain that young Kalora had been stood up; the girl was furious. "So much for your brilliant plan to get me to the prom," she spat at her stunned older self. "Thanks for nothing. Wait till school tomorrow. Feeble-stra will be laughing his head off at me and get the last word after all."

"He'll probably say it was just a joke," Kalora offered desperately. "Just tell him you bet he wouldn't have thought it was half so funny if it were him, and tell the loser to go jump off a cliff."

"Oh, I'll tell him all right," the teenager blazed, "but it won't help me any. I spent all my babysitting money on this dress! Where'm I ever gonna wear it again?"

"I'm sorry," Kalora said helplessly.

"I just _bet."_ The younger girl turned her back on Kalora and grumbled in a fury, "I'll never listen to that stupid inner voice again. What a fiasco. Why don't you get lost?"

Kalora had no idea what to say; fortunately, she was saved from the necessity, as the scene dissolved around her and she found herself standing in the time-travel room again, still holding the glass ball. She stared at it, and just like that, the riposte that had eluded her in her altered memory popped into her head. Frustrated beyond words, she stomped the floor hard and cursed a few times.

The door opened immediately and Roarke looked in at her. "I take it your third attempt was unsuccessful."

"As if you didn't know," Kalora snapped, thrusting the glass ball at him with enough force to catch him rather hard in the stomach. Roarke winced but managed to hold his ground. "I _told_ you I wanted these things to succeed! But I just got humiliated yet again!"

"Suppose you come out and tell us about it, Miss Calhoun," Roarke suggested, his voice faintly strained. Kalora stormed out, with Roarke directly behind her, still carrying the sphere. He set it with great care atop the tea table before making for his desk, trying to resist the urge to rub his aching abdomen.

"What happened?" Leslie asked while this was going on.

Kalora slammed herself into the unoccupied chair and barked out the story of what had transpired. "Sure, my plan worked fine. And then that…that _turd_ stood me up! I even got mad at myself…I mean, myself got mad at me…I mean, well, you know what I mean. My other self threw me out, and then when I was standing in there feeling like the dumbest thing on two feet, I finally thought of what I should've told her."

"Which was?" Leslie prompted with interest.

"I should've told myself to go stag," Kalora growled. "Lots of kids do these days anyway. No big deal. But no…I stood there with my lower teeth flapping in the wind, and let myself look like a loser all over again!"

Leslie glanced at her father, who was listening in silence with one hand lying on his stomach, and ventured, "Do you know if this Allen Feemstra guy actually did go to the prom, in real life?"

Kalora stopped short and stared at her. "Well, no…come to think of it, I don't remember hearing whether he did or not."

"Did you ever see him again after high school?" Leslie queried.

Kalora groaned aloud. "Oh, you had to remind me. Someone set me up on a blind date when I was 25, and it turned out to be him. We got one look at each other and he started laughing, and I ran like hell." She spun in her chair and drilled a glare into Roarke's face. "And that's the other memory I want you to change. Three strikes and you oughta be out, Mr. Roarke, but I've wanted for too long to give Feeble-stra what-for to let you get away with making me look stupid. I'm telling you, you better make this last chance go the way I want it to go, or so help me, I'll spread word all over Delaware that you don't grant people's fantasies like they should be!" She bolted to her feet and stalked out.

"Well," Leslie said through a gusty exhalation. "Father, I'd say you have one very unhappy customer there."

"You, like so many of our guests, forget that a fantasy leaves my control once it has begun," Roarke told her, more severely than Leslie thought her comment warranted. "I have no say whatsoever in what takes place after I have set the guest on his or her way. I suggest that you remind Miss Calhoun of this the next time you see her. As for me…" He arose, then winced sharply and bent a bit at the waist, now with both hands over his stomach.

"What happened, Father?" Leslie exclaimed, alarmed. "Are you all right?"

"Let's just say that I probably won't be partaking of the noon meal," Roarke said and crossed the room with gingerly steps, making his way up the stairs while Leslie stared after him. _Maybe Maureen was right—he __does__ need a vacation!_


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - June 1, 2008

Kalora was back at two-thirty, still with that annoyed look on her face. Roarke was nowhere to be seen. "What happened to your dad?"

Leslie cleared her throat. "He wasn't feeling very well…can't imagine why. But don't worry, I'll be seeing you off into the last memory."

To her surprise, a contrite look crept over Kalora's features, and she bit her lip. "I, uh, well…that was probably my fault. I was mad and I, uh, shoved that crystal bowling ball at him when he came in. Kinda hard, I think. I just didn't think it was _that_ hard." She gave Leslie a sheepish look. "If I don't see him, could you tell him I'm really sorry?"

Leslie smiled, amused in spite of herself now that the mystery had been cleared up. "Sure, I'll do that. But I guess right now you want that last stab at making one of your memories come out for the better."

"You got that right," Kalora declared. "Let's get to it."

Leslie led her into the time-travel room and extracted the last deep-blue sphere from the fog-filled box; when she handed it to Kalora, the fog dissolved into nothingness and all that remained was the clear box. "So you mentioned that you wanted to change a memory that involved that Allen Feemstra?"

Kalora nodded. "Like I said, somebody arranged a blind date for me when I was 25, and when I got there, I found out it was Feeble-stra himself. I felt humiliated later on when I thought about my reaction—I ran away, remember?" Leslie nodded. "Well, I'd always wondered why he made that wisecrack in high school about taking me out in his bulldozer, and I realized that was probably my last chance at finding out why. So that's what I want to do this time around. I want to ask him why he made fun of me back then."

Leslie waited for more, but Kalora had apparently finished. Surprised, Leslie prodded gently, "Is that all?"

"That's all," said Kalora with a half-shrug. She focused on Leslie then, read her expression, and grinned. "I guess you were expecting something a little more earthshaking, huh? No, really, that's it. Maybe I'd get a little peace of mind out of it."

"Okay," Leslie agreed, daring to think that there might just be a tiny chance that this time their guest would achieve her objective. "You know Father's instructions by now. So good luck, and I hope this time your blind date isn't quite such a washout."

"You and me both," said Kalora dryly. Leslie grinned and let herself out of the time-travel room, blowing out a long breath when she was safely alone in the study. It had been quite a weekend, and not just for Kalora Calhoun.

This time, Kalora was gone for quite a long time, long enough that Leslie lost track of time while she was taking care of some of the paperwork. She was separating acceptance letters from rejections, preparing to stuff envelopes for outgoing mail, when a knock on the door startled her. "Come in," she called out.

Christian came in, looking quizzical. "Hi, my Rose," he said. "So this is what you're up to. Is Mr. Roarke still feeling indisposed?"

"Yeah, he decided to see if a nap might help, but he's been up there since lunch." She tossed a glance at the grandfather clock, then looked again in disbelief. "Holy paradise, I had no idea it was that late. Finish work for the day?"

He nodded and settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I take it things have been quiet here."

"Pretty much," she said, resuming her task. "What brings you around here?"

"You didn't make the usual rounds as you tend to do, so I thought I'd come and see what was happening. Quiet is unusual here, on a weekend."

She laughed. "Yeah…enough that now I'm starting to wonder what happened to Miss Calhoun. She's been in there for almost three hours." She nodded at his reaction. "She was out within an hour the other three times, so I'm getting this funny feeling that things might have gotten more out of control than even we bargained for."

Christian made a commentary noise and resettled himself in the chair. "Where did our illustrious babysitters take the children off to?"

"Oh, Haruko took them to that children's wading pool Father had installed some years back. So they're in good hands and getting some relief from the heat." She stopped herself, looking up and across the room at the time-travel-room door, which showed no sign of opening anytime soon. "I'd love to know what the heck's going on in there."

Just then they heard a door open upstairs and glanced at each other; a few seconds later Roarke descended the staircase, impeccably dressed as always and looking fully refreshed. "Ah, hello, Christian," he greeted his son-in-law, stepping down into the room. "How is Miss Calhoun's fantasy progressing, Leslie?"

"I'm not sure. She showed up for the last phase at two-thirty, right on time, but she hasn't come back out yet. Whatever's happening, it must be big."

Roarke cast a curious glance at the door in question, then nodded once or twice to himself. "I am sure she'll be out in due time. I need to see to the Wundermann fantasy."

"You seem to be feeling much better," Christian observed.

"I am, thank you, Christian. If you don't mind helping Leslie hold down the proverbial fort for another half hour or so, I would be very appreciative." Christian nodded, and Roarke thanked him again and left.

"Is there anything there I can help with?" Christian queried, scanning the various piles of papers sitting around the desk.

"Actually, yes." Leslie pulled out a drawer, pawed through a few things till she found a roll of stamps, and handed it across the desk to him. "Grab those two stacks of outgoing letters and plaster stamps on them for me, would you, my love?"

"I suppose I can manage that without much trouble," he quipped and winked at her when she snickered. Quiet settled over the study again while she continued stuffing envelopes and he began ripping stamps off the roll and adhering them to envelopes.

He was almost half through, and she was finally nearing the last of the letters to be sent, when the time-travel-room door swung open and Kalora Calhoun came out, looking dazed, clutching the now-clear sphere for all she was worth. Christian and Leslie both stopped where they were and stared at her; then Leslie dropped the letter she had been about to fold and stood up. "Are you okay?"

Kalora blinked rapidly for a moment and focused on her, still looking stunned. "I'm not sure if I wish I'd never gone through this last memory change or not."

"Well, come over here and tell me what happened," Leslie suggested, tugging gently at the glass ball till Kalora blinked again and released it into her grip. She set the ball on the tea table and returned to Roarke's chair while Kalora sat in the last empty chair, giving Christian only an absentminded nod when he greeted her. He met Leslie's gaze for a second or two, shrugged and resumed pasting stamps on envelopes. Leslie knew, though, that he'd be unobtrusively listening.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Leslie asked, trying not to let her exploding curiosity show too much in her voice.

"You could say that," Kalora said, her eyes losing focus for a couple of seconds. Then she blinked again, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and violently shook her head in the sort of movement that is better described as a shudder. "Feemstra told me he made fun of me that day because he wanted to see if I was really a human being."

Even Christian couldn't keep from reacting to that. "What?" he chorused right along with his wife.

"That's what I said at first." Kalora nodded, now alert and eager to talk. "I spent a lot of time studying in high school, see. I had some friends, but most of them had different classes from me, for the most part, and none of them at all were in that class I shared with Feemstra. Feemstra had a reputation for picking on people anyway, and he'd been doing it to me since about sixth grade when he first moved to our area and started going to all the same schools with me. I was one of his favorite targets. But I was always trying to tune him out by either studying, or pretending to. So he said he decided to see if there was an actual person in there, instead of a reading machine."

"Hm," Leslie mumbled. Then she focused directly on Kalora. "So how come it took so long for you to come back out, if that was all you needed to know?"

"Because…well, I don't know how it happened, but Feemstra told me…I mean, my other self…that he'd actually had a crush on me for a long time. He said the reason he laughed when he first saw me is that he couldn't believe his luck in getting me for his blind date. So he and I…the _other_ I…started talking, and talking, and talking…and talking some more…I might as well not've been there. The date was a smashing success. And then the scene changed and I was looking at myself sitting on a park bench beside Feemstra, watching people—and lo and behold, he gets down on one knee and pops the question."

"Wow," Leslie uttered, astonished.

"It gets better," Kalora assured her. "The other me said yes! I thought I was gonna keel over! And the two of them started laughing and kinda crying, and hugging each other and jumping around and dancing, and making a couple of jackasses out of themselves, and I couldn't keep looking—it was too embarrassing. It just didn't even seem like me, even a different me, doing all that. I mean…_Allen Feemstra?"_

"I see what you mean," Leslie murmured, now struggling to hide her amusement. Her husband was having considerably less success at this, and she had to be careful not to look at him for fear of losing her own tenuous control.

"So next thing I know, I'm standing in a great big old church near where I grew up, and my whole family's in the front pews, and his whole family's there, and about a thousand guests, and I see myself strolling along down the aisle all decked out in the biggest white thundercloud of a wedding dress that ever existed." Here, Christian ducked his head and began snickering helplessly at the description; thankfully, Kalora was too caught up in her own remembered shock to notice. "She—I—well, that other me was beaming from one ear to the other, and so was Feemstra! And there I am, watching myself get married to him! And before I've really recovered from that, the damn thing changes yet again, and I've got a little kid running around my feet, and a baby in my arms, and Feemstra bragging about his wife and family to some fat-cat-looking character with a cigar and a big ol' vat for a gut, and it…it was like freaking happily ever after! And that's when it finally ended." Kalora sagged in her chair and blew out a huge breath. "What a nightmare!"

This finally stopped Christian's laughter. "Wait a minute. Falling in love and getting married and having two children, and being taken pride in—that was a nightmare?"

"It was Allen Feemstra," Kalora said earnestly, as if Allen Feemstra were a particularly famous bully. "Seriously, Your Highness—I couldn't imagine that kind of life with him." She turned to Leslie while Christian contemplated this. "I spent a long time wondering if it was supposed to be some sort of joke, before I realized that I was the one who told myself to ask Feemstra the question, and that's what really started it all." She shook her head. "I know it sounds like a happy ending, but it sure wasn't what I expected."

"So do you think that's why Allen Feemstra laughed at you on the real-life version of that blind date?" Leslie asked with interest.

Kalora thought about that. "You know, it's possible." She frowned at the desktop, then met Leslie's gaze. "I suppose I could possibly have learned to like, maybe even love, old Feeble-stra, if it'd gone that way in real life. Maybe I wouldn't still be looking for my Mr. Right, y'know?" Leslie nodded in sympathy. "But…well, who knows. What happened is what happened, and here I am." After a moment's heavy thought, she focused once more on Leslie, with noticeable reluctance, and slowly admitted, "I guess Mr. Roarke was right. You really can't change the past. And if you could, the changes might be even worse than the original version."

"Do you think your fantasy was a success or a failure, then?" Leslie queried.

It was a moment before Kalora responded. "I gotta think about that one." She stood up and cast Leslie an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound abrupt or anything. I just have some thinking to do. Listen, thanks for putting up with me…and tell Mr. Roarke I said thanks too." She nodded at Christian, then departed.

Once she was safely gone, Christian began to laugh. "Well, there was an unexpected twist. I have the feeling she was anticipating going through an evening of high-school-style taunts from what's-his-name, and instead she married him!"

"In a thundercloud of a wedding dress," Leslie agreed, laughing too. "I kind of wish I could've seen that. I don't know if Father planned it that way or not—I know he'd say he didn't, but even so, you can't help wondering. But if he did, that's quite a twist."

"You're not kidding," said Christian, speaking through lingering chuckles. "I'm looking forward to your father's reaction when you tell him what happened."

§ § § - June 2, 2008

All of them—Roarke, Leslie and Kalora Calhoun—were very surprised indeed when Kalora found herself with company as she prepared to board the plane on Monday morning. Darius Langford, looking a bit sheepish, hesitantly approached, his face radiating hope. "I don't want to interrupt anything," he began, just as Kalora was thanking Roarke and shaking his hand.

"Not at all, Mr. Langford," said Roarke warmly. "What may we do for you?"

"Well, it's really more what Kalora could do, if she wanted to," Darius said, his eyes sliding back and forth between Roarke and Kalora. "If I'm not presuming."

Kalora grinned. "On our dinner date last evening, you mean?" She caught Leslie's and Roarke's looks, and explained, "Well, see, I was on my way back to my bungalow when I saw Darius here. We started talking, and he got around to asking me out for dinner, and it was such a lovely evening. I thought it was a shame he and I couldn't spend more time getting to know each other better, but then he said he might be able to do something."

"I did," Darius said. "That's why I called your house last night, Leslie. I was checking with Christian to see how much vacation time I had coming, and if I could take any of it right now. He's one heckuva generous guy—he told me I could take two weeks, and they'll get along without me like they did before they hired me. Wished me luck, too."

"That was really nice of him," Kalora remarked, impressed. She grinned at Leslie. "Tell him I said thanks, and thanks to you both for listening to my crazy story last night. And you know, Mr. Roarke…I guess I gotta admit, you were right about not changing the past. I finally realized what kinds of insane things could happen if it were actually possible to do it." Roarke chuckled, Leslie laughed and Kalora grinned again. "Thanks again, Mr. Roarke. And you too, Leslie."

"Have a safe trip," Roarke said with a warm smile.

"You really don't mind me coming with you?" they heard Darius ask as he and Kalora strolled toward the plane dock.

"Well, I tell you, you beat the living heck out of Allen Feemstra," Kalora told him, and burst into laughter at his blank expression. "I'll tell you on the plane." They accepted leis, turned to wave at Roarke and Leslie, and were gone.

"You made a quip about her 'helping herself' yesterday morning," Leslie recalled, gazing after them. "I think she did—into a much better future than the one she'd been hoping to achieve with all those impossible changes."

"Indeed she did," said Roarke, smiling broadly.

_Next story: Christian turns 50, and half the family turns up for the party, not to mention a LOT of other people. And of course, some reminiscing goes on…_


End file.
